


Shatter Me

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [37]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Aramis | René d'Herblay Angst, Dragon Riders, Drama, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Rochefort has kidnapped the Queen and a desperate search ensues. Will the musketeers find her before it’s too late?
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 28
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

Anne lolled her head to the side, a throbbing in her temple keeping her from opening her eyes just yet. But then she registered the fact that she was lying on a cold, gritty surface. Confusion and alarm brought her fully awake, and she prized her eyelids open as she pushed herself up on her palms.

Torchlight flickered from sconces along roughhewn walls of rock that arched up into a cavernous dome overhead. There was no other source of illumination, no crack in the chamber to hint how far underground this place was. Burnt out fire pits were spaced about, and there were some wooden chairs and a table along the opposite end. Someone had made use of this cavern in the past.

Anne pushed herself up further and turned over to see the rest of her surroundings, only to startle badly when she found Rochefort perched in a chair a mere few feet to her left, watching her silently. She skittered backward until she bumped into the rock wall. Memory came flooding back, of him coming to her room, attacking her. Again. In those final moments when she couldn't breathe, she'd thought she was going to die. She had never imagined she'd wake up underground, alone with Rochefort.

"You will die for this treachery," she gasped, heart jackrabbiting against her ribs.

He regarded her patiently, back to his usual calm self, though Anne now saw it for what it was—a deadly calm like a viper capable of striking like lightning. He slowly rose from his chair.

"God has given us a second chance," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked nervously.

He took a step toward her. "We will be together now. No one will stand in our way."

Anne's heart lurched with fear and she leaped to her feet. "Never!"

She tried to dart away, but he was always so much faster. He lashed a hand out and caught her by the throat. She gasped as he forced her around and bent her back over a boulder.

"Beg!" he seethed, leaning over her and squeezing his fingers.

Anne choked on a garbled cry as her air was cut off again.

"Beg for my forgiveness!" he raged. "Beg! Beg for your life!"

"I beg you…" she choked out.

He loomed over her for a moment longer, his one good eye burning with umbrage. Anne's lungs spasmed.

Rochefort abruptly snatched his hand away, and she rolled off the boulder to collapse to the ground, clutching her neck and gasping raggedly.

"Your beauty is nothing," he said, deadly calm again. "Nothing but deception."

Anne swallowed back a terrified sob, throat on fire. "We were friends…" she rasped, trying to appeal to some decent part of him.

"I _loved_ you!" he shouted down at her, and she flinched as a whimper escaped past her lips.

There was no reasoning with him, she realized. He had gone completely mad. Or perhaps he had always been so, and she had been blind to it. Her only hope was to play along, to keep him appeased long enough for someone to find and rescue her.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, ducking her head demurely. "I chose the wrong words. You have always been there for me," she added, remembering past conversations with him. Her heart clenched as she remembered small instances, seemingly so inconsequential at the time, but perhaps they had been warning signs. Oh, how she had been a fool.

"I am more of a man than your sniveling husband," he spat.

Anne cringed and kept her eyes on the ground. "You are," she forced herself to agree.

She could feel his gaze boring into her, but she dared not move. She heard the sound of his boots coming closer, saw them edge into her field of vision. Then he was sinking to his knees beside her. Anne trembled as he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She bit back a whimper as he leaned close and caressed a finger down the side of her neck, tracing the bruises he had put there only moments ago. Anne wasn't able to hold back a wince as he touched a tender spot.

His hand stilled, and she was afraid his anger had ignited once more, but he simply gazed at her, that one eye wavering with emotion. Then he bowed his head, nestling it into the crook of her shoulder. A tear slipped down her cheek as she forced herself not to move.

"It's just you and me now," he whispered in her ear.

.o.0.o.

The palace was in chaos. Musketeers swarmed the corridors, searching every room for the Queen and Rochefort. Some of the low ranking palace guards assisted, while the lieutenants were rounded up and questioned. They all denied any knowledge of Rochefort's plan to kidnap the Queen.

D'Artagnan wasn't sure whether they could be believed. Treville obviously didn't think so either, because he ordered them taken to the dungeon until the Queen was found. The King, for his part, had been reduced to a distraught mess and was in no shape to give any commands.

Yet after hours of searching, they had come up empty, which left only one conclusion—the Queen and Rochefort were not in the palace.

"None of the servants saw anythin'," Porthos reported. "He didn't drag the Queen kicking and screaming out of here."

"He may have incapacitated her," Aramis put in grimly.

"Or killed her," Athos added.

"We will continue to operate as though she's still alive until proven otherwise," Treville said sharply.

"Still," d'Artagnan interjected, "you'd think someone would have seen something."

The doors at the end of the hall swung open and Jean Bonacieux came hurrying in with Constance.

"Rochefort's dragon isn't at the compound," she said, slightly winded.

"I haven't seen him in two days," Jean added. "It's not unusual for him to go sulking off somewhere on his own, but this is the longest he's been gone."

The musketeers all stiffened at that.

"If Rochefort fled with the Queen on his dragon, they could be anywhere by now," Porthos said.

"I want every rider in the sky, now," Treville barked.

With brisk nods, the four of them turned and quickly made their way outside to where Savron, Vrita, Zhar, and Beltane were still waiting in the gardens. They all pulled up short in surprise as none other than Ayelet and Rhaego came swooping in.

"Where have you been?" d'Artagnan exclaimed. He was relieved to see his dragon seemed fine—aside from her saddle being askew—but that only turned his worry to anger. How could she have run off on him like that? In the middle of a national crisis, no less?

Ayelet ducked her head contritely.

Aramis gave his dragon a critical look. "Rhaego?"

The russet dragon grimaced in apology, but unfortunately neither of them could exactly explain where they'd been. And _together_ , which was befuddling in itself.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "At least you're here now. Rochefort has taken the Queen. We need to track him and his dragon."

Ayelet's face pinched and she shook her head, hunching in on herself.

D'Artagnan frowned. "What's wrong?"

Ayelet made a gargled noise in her throat and backed up a step, her wings folding down over the ground as she burrowed further into them.

Rhaego barked sharply, drawing d'Artagnan's attention, and gave him a head shake. He then cocked his head toward Zhar and made a throaty query. The green dragon bobbed his head fervently in response and croaked at d'Artagnan.

He was completely flummoxed and turned to his wife and father-in-law. "Is Ayelet sick?"

"I don't know," Constance replied, eyeing their dragon curiously. "We'll look her over. You have to hurry."

D'Artagnan's jaw tightened, but he knew she was right. So he went to climb onto Zhar's back to again fly that dragon into battle instead of his own.

"Savron and I will go back to the garrison and summon the rest of the dragon riders," Athos said as Aramis and Porthos mounted their dragons. "Head south. We'll take the rest."

They nodded and turned their dragons around. Everyone else backed up to give them space to launch into the sky.

D'Artagnan cast a look over his shoulder at Ayelet, concern gnawing at his gut. But she was in good hands with Constance and Jean. D'Artagnan just hoped it wasn't anything serious. They had enough crises to deal with at the moment.

D'Artagnan scanned the sky and land below for any sign of Rochefort's dragon, Falkor. There was so much ground to cover, though, and who knew how much of a lead they had…

"Do you think Rochefort would have fled to Spain?" d'Artagnan called over the wind. "Seems a stupid move, kidnapping the King's sister and then fleeing to his country with her."

"Rochefort's gone mad," Aramis replied. "Reason doesn't come into play anymore."

"Remember Rochefort's dragon can't fly very far," Porthos shouted. "No way he would've reached Spain yet."

Rhaego suddenly let out a screech and banked left. Vrita and Zhar quickly adjusted course to follow suit, and d'Artagnan caught a glimpse of a brown dragon flying over the river. Falkor.

D'Artagnan clung tighter to the saddle and leaned forward over Zhar's neck to reduce the wind shear as the Musketeer dragons gave chase.

Their hobbled target certainly couldn't outrun them, and within minutes they were swooping in and around him. But he was riderless. Falkor shrieked in anger and tried to break away, but three was no match for him, and their coordinated flying eventually forced him down to land on the riverbank.

He splashed into the shallow waters, one leg giving out beneath him. He wasn't even wearing his saddle, and d'Artagnan frowned as he noticed a nasty wound gouging out his shoulder, like he'd been in a fight with another dragon recently.

Falkor snarled and spat as the Musketeer dragons surrounded him.

"You'd better lead us to yer rider," Porthos said sharply.

Falkor snapped his jaws in response.

Rhaego hissed back.

Aramis frowned and laid a hand on his dragon's shoulder in caution.

D'Artagnan didn't think Falkor had a chance, but despite being crippled and pitiful, the dragon's muscles rippled as he prepared to attack. The Musketeer dragons saw it as well, and just as Falkor lunged, all three of them kindled their fire and spewed streams of flames into his path.

Falkor screeched and reeled backward, falling into the river and thrashing around to put out the flames. He let out a low keen and struggled to get to his feet again, water dripping from blackened patches of scales.

"It's not worth it!" Aramis yelled.

The dragon shot them all a baleful glower, then with a raging roar, came charging out of the river again.

D'Artagnan barely had time to think that he should have dismounted, but a musket shot cracked the air, and Falkor went crashing through the dirt. When he skidded to a stop, there was a hole in his skull with glints of obsidian alloy. D'Artagnan whipped his gaze toward where Aramis sat atop Rhaego, a smoking musket still braced against his shoulder. The marksman looked pale and slightly shaky as he slowly lowered the gun.

Rhaego snorted in contempt.

Porthos slid off of Vrita and went over to toe Falkor's carcass. The dragon was dead.

"There's nothin' on 'im." Porthos turned back to face them. "You think Rochefort camped somewhere and Falkor was off hunting?"

"It'd be a foolish move," Aramis replied. "He has to know every dragon rider will be out looking for his dragon." He slipped his musket back into its holster. "But we'll do a sweep of the surrounding area. Split up, and call out if you find anything."

D'Artagnan cast a regretful look at Falkor. "At least we know Rochefort won't be going any further very quickly."

But it was small comfort, because the fact of the matter was with Rochefort's dragon dead, they had no leads on him or the Queen.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos stood with Treville in the King's bedchamber, updating him on their progress—or lack thereof. The Musketeer dragon riders had searched half the countryside before there wasn't enough daylight left to continue. Each search party had then sent back one rider, somber and empty-handed, to report to their captain, while the rest remained deployed and would resume their efforts in the morning.

Louis was a wreck, bundled in his nightgown and robe as he sat slumped on the settee. He was pale, and there was a pinch between his brows that hinted at a headache. Unfortunately, thanks to Rochefort, there was no longer a royal physician to tend the King.

"Rochefort's dragon is dead," Athos went on in his report. "But there was no sign of him or the Queen in the vicinity."

Louis lifted glazed eyes toward them. "How could this have happened?" he said, voice breaking.

"Rochefort deceived many of us, Your Majesty," Treville said.

The King turned a beseeching gaze on Athos. "You must find my wife, Athos," he pleaded.

"I will do everything within my power, Your Majesty," he replied. Taking that as a dismissal to return to the search, Athos bowed swiftly and left.

Savron was waiting outside, and it was a brief flight from the palace back to the garrison where the rest of the men were gathered.

"What now?" Porthos asked.

"We'll resume the search in the morning," Athos said.

"There's been no sign of them," d'Artagnan pointed out.

"We can't just give up," Aramis countered.

"That's not what I meant."

"Enough," Athos interjected. "We will keep searching until we find them."

_One way or the other_.

Porthos nudged d'Artagnan and thrust his chin across the way. They looked over to see Constance crossing the yard toward them.

"Anything?" she asked worriedly.

Their grim silence was answer enough.

"How's Ayelet?" d'Artagnan asked.

"We couldn't find anything wrong with her."

D'Artagnan frowned. "But she's not acting normal. First she disappeared and then she shows back up out of the blue but refuses to help us find the Queen?"

Constance just shrugged. "All I know is she's not sick or injured. And she was behaving normally back at the compound. Aside from looking a little guilty at not having gone with you."

"She's young still," Aramis put in.

"Yeah, but how do you explain that?" Porthos put in, nodding toward where Ayelet and Rhaego were huddled close together near the dens as though deep in conversation. It was quite an unusual sight.

Aramis ran a hand over his hair, looking equally flummoxed by it.

Something had happened there, but they weren't likely to ever find out what it was, so Athos turned them back to the matter at hand.

"Everyone get some rest. We head out again at first light."

"Rochefort couldn't have gotten very far," Porthos insisted. "His dragon was too crippled to make a lengthy flight, let alone with two burdens."

"We searched the area where we caught up to him thoroughly," Aramis added. "But Falkor wasn't wearing a saddle, and I doubt Rochefort was the type to ride bareback."

Athos straightened as the cogs in his brain started turning. "Perhaps Falkor was just a diversion," he postulated. "And Rochefort never left with him."

"Then how could he have gotten away from the palace with the Queen?" Constance asked dubiously.

Athos could have kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"Maybe he didn't."

.o.0.o.

Anne sat pressed up against the rock wall, wringing her hands in her skirts as Rochefort paced only a few feet away. He was agitated again, though not toward her, thankfully. Part of her wanted to just keep quiet and not draw his attention, but neither was she used to inaction.

"How long are we going to stay down here?" she tentatively asked.

Rochefort scowled. "We should have already left France, but my wretched dragon wasn't waiting where he was supposed to."

Anne's pulse jumped. Small favors, then.

"Left France?" she repeated. "To where?"

"Anywhere," he replied. "To start our new life together."

Anne shook her head in disbelief, her indignant bristling getting the better of her again. "You tried to frame me for witchcraft," she said scathingly. "I would have burned."

He turned toward her. "You left me no choice," he said, expression pinched as though the action had truly grieved him. "But now I have rescued you from that fate."

She stared back at him incredulously, unable to keep up with his madness. "Might we not go back to the palace?" she tested. "Everything could be forgiven…"

His anger erupted like a lightning strike. "You do not give the commands anymore!" he bellowed.

Anne ducked her head with a flinch. "Of course," she said hurriedly. "You know best, Rochefort."

His chest heaved a couple more times before that rage simmered down again.

Anne bit her lip, cringing as she pressed on despite her better judgment. "It's just so very cold in here, and I haven't eaten anything all day. I'm feeling rather faint."

He regarded her for a tense moment before shrugging off his cape and moving toward her. Anne held herself rigid as he draped the fabric over her. But inviting him to come so close again triggered another speculative pause in which he reached out to caress her cheek. Anne had to fight to suppress a shudder of revulsion so she wouldn't provoke him again.

Using the motion of snuggling into the cape as an excuse to shift away from him, she tucked her chin into the warm fabric and managed a soft "thank you."

Rochefort straightened and moved away again, much to her relief.

After several agonizingly long minutes, Anne spoke again. "Where would we have gone? Spain?"

"Perhaps," he said noncommittally.

She knew he was a spy for her former country, but she couldn't imagine her brother would have consented to any of this. If Rochefort did try to take her there, he'd be just as wanted, no doubt.

"I've missed my home," she went on carefully. "It would be nice to return."

Rochefort turned his head, his one good eye fixed on her with unnerving shrewdness.

"Being Queen is hard, and lonely," she continued. "Many times I have wished I could just be Anne."

"I will give you that life," he said.

She nodded shakily. "It sounds pleasant." She hesitated. "Do you think Falkor might have returned?"

His gaze narrowed in suspicion, and Anne tried to look as submissive as possible.

"I will go check," Rochefort finally said.

But instead of turning to leave, he drew out a silk scarf from his coat and stalked toward her. Anne tensed and backed up against the wall in fright as he bent down and snatched up one of her wrists. She bit back a whimper as he grabbed the other and held them together in a bruising grip, looping the scarf around them. He then picked up a piece of rope from the ground and wound it around her wrists over the silk layer. He tied the opposite end to a bolt in the rock wall, then finally turned to leave.

Anne grimaced at the unexpected complication. She made sure to stay perfectly still as Rochefort crossed the cavern to one of the adjoining tunnels. At its entrance, he turned to look back at her, then slipped into its darkness.

Once he was gone, Anne started struggling against the bonds. The silk scarf slid easily over her skin, bunching together at one end so that there was then nothing to serve as a buffer between the coarse fiber and tender flesh. It grated her wrists the harder she twisted and squirmed to wriggle free. Blood began to fleck the hemp cord, and Anne let out a desperate cry. Rochefort could return at any moment, and he'd see the evidence of her trying to escape, which would no doubt infuriate him. If she didn't escape now, she feared she never would. And if his dragon had returned, then he could take her anywhere, and she'd never be found…

She gasped out a sob as more skin was scraped away and the ropes pinched over the bone joints at the base of her thumbs. It wasn't going to work… With a sharp twinge, one hand finally slipped loose, and the rest of the rope fell slack around her other hand.

Anne scrabbled to shove it off, then leaped to her feet and looked toward the tunnel exit Rochefort had taken. It must lead outside, but she couldn't risk running straight into his arms, so she turned to survey the other caverns branching out from this main one. She knew they went all under the city, but she had no idea which ones led where, or for how far.

But she had no choice. Casting another harried glance at the tunnel for Rochefort's return, Anne grabbed a torch and yanked it out of its sconce. She then picked the closest passage and went hurrying down it.

The torch cast haphazard illumination across the walls as light and shadow clashed in a writhing, flickering maelstrom. Anne angled the torch down to light the ground at her feet, but even then she couldn't see very far ahead.

Her slippered feet tripped over rocks and ruts, and she stumbled several times to her knees, scraping her palms and knuckles each time she caught herself. Mud accumulated on her skirts, adding weight that dragged on her already slogging steps.

_Please_ , she begged as she fled down turn after turn. But there was no exit in sight. This place was a winding labyrinth.

She lurched to a stop and sagged against the rock wall, chest heaving from exertion and terror. Something slimy slicked across her hand and she jerked back. Helpless tears pricked at her eyes.

Something squeaked in the surrounding void. Anne swung the torch up, pulse thundering. A gleam of red blinked up at her from the ground, followed by another pair. She nearly squeaked herself in terror and turned to run back the other direction.

But now she was all turned around and had no idea whether she was heading away from the cavern and Rochefort, or back toward him.

She staggered to another stop and wrapped one arm around her middle as she folded over with a gasping cry. Utterly lost and despairing, she dropped the torch on the ground and sank down next to it, giving in to the broken sobs. How was she going to get out of this? She just wanted to go home, to see Constance again. And her husband, well…

Had he realized her innocence, now that she was gone? Did he know of Rochefort's treachery? Or…or did Louis believe she had escaped on her own again, perhaps had even run away with Rochefort intentionally?

The thought sickened her and she almost retched right then and there in the filth and grime she was already covered in.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," she prayed.

An enraged bellow echoed through the tunnels, a long, anguished roar that sent chills up Anne's spine. Rochefort had discovered her treachery.

Terror seized her heart and almost stopped it. She fumbled for the end of the torch and snatched it up, lurching to her feet again and running blindly into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Athos led a group of musketeers through the Louvre to the secret entrance to the tunnels they'd discovered when Vadim had robbed the palace last May. The passage had been repaired after the explosive damage and the wall panel sealed, but Porthos merely stabbed his schiavona through the wallpaper and wood, breaking through.

"You really think Rochefort's been here the whole time?" Christophe asked dubiously.

"It's the one place we haven't searched," Athos replied. "And as the Cardinal's former agent, he would know about them."

"But what could possibly be his endgame?" d'Artagnan said. "He can't stay down there with the Queen forever."

Athos didn't want to say what he thought Rochefort might be doing to the Queen in the underground caverns beneath the palace. If they were even there. He could just as easily have snuck out one of the sewer exits on the edge of the city and spirited the Queen away from there.

But if they could find any evidence of that, maybe they could find a scent for Rhaego to track.

"The dragons are covering the tunnel exits we know about," he told his men. "And searching for any others. Let us hope Rochefort hasn't used one of them yet."

Porthos finally finished chopping away enough plaster and wood to get at the seam in the door. Sticking his blade into the crevice, he managed to separate it from the jamb enough to swing the panel wide open. A set of stairs descended into darkness.

They already had torches among them, and so the musketeers ventured down into the bowels of the Louvre. There was still debris and rock scattered around from Vadim's gunpowder explosion, but none of the adjoining passages were blocked.

"Split up," Athos ordered, gesturing to his men to send them off in pairs. He nodded to d'Artagnan to come with him.

Exchanging staunch looks, they all set off in search of their Queen.

.o.0.o.

Anne raced through the tunnels as fast as her heavy skirts and dim torchlight allowed. She tripped and went sprawling, the torch flying out of her hand and rolling across the ground, its flames sputtering down to almost nothing and plunging her into pitch black. But a few small tendrils clung to life, not completely drowning her in darkness.

She lay on her stomach on the cold ground, her breath and strength almost spent. Pushing herself up onto her knees, Anne clasped her hands together and bowed her head over them with a broken sob.

"Heavenly Lord, please save your humble servant," she gasped. "Deliver me from evil…"

She stayed in that penitent position, praying, catching her breath. She was utterly lost, at the Lord's mercy.

Her lips moved soundlessly in the repeated pleas. She didn't know what help could even come to her down here like this. Perhaps her loyal musketeers would find her? Perhaps a break of light would finally show her the way out? She needed a miracle.

"Annnne," a sing-song voice echoed down the tunnel.

Her blood ran cold as her whole body went rigid in terror.

"Where are you, Anne?"

She scrambled to her feet and pressed herself back against the rock wall.

"You don't really think you can run from me," Rochefort's lilting voice continued to filter toward her. "I will find you. And when I do, you will regret this betrayal."

Anne clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound. The passage she was in was still dark; Rochefort couldn't be that close yet if she couldn't see the flicker of torchlight. She snatched up her own fallen torch and continued running. The small flames folded backward against the rush of air as she hastened her way down the tunnel, obscuring her view of what lay ahead. But she kept going. She couldn't stop. To stop would be to die.

She rounded a corner and ran straight into a body. The torch fell from her fingers as she screamed and hands seized her arms.

Rochefort slammed her back against the wall, and she cried out as jarring pain radiated up her spine. "Deceitful witch," he spat.

"I beg you," she pleaded, but he grabbed her face roughly, fingers digging into her cheeks with bruising intensity.

"You do not deserve mercy," he seethed.

He stepped back and threw her to the ground. She cried out again in pain, and then Rochefort was climbing on top of her, and she was helpless to stop him.

.o.0.o.

Aramis and Porthos made their way through the tunnels. It was difficult not to feel like they were going in circles without a map to guide them. Perhaps that was what happened to Rochefort; after five years in a Spanish prison, he might have forgotten the specifics of these tunnels when he'd tried to use them in his escape. Aramis clung to that small hope that they might still find the Queen. The longer she was with Rochefort, the more Aramis feared for her. Already she'd been with the monster too long.

"Hold up," Porthos said as they came to a juncture. He swung his torch between the two openings, then across the ground. "Which way, you think?"

Aramis surveyed one tunnel, then the other. "I don't know."

Porthos worked his jaw. "Split up?"

Aramis's gut cramped at the suggestion, but they were running out of time and if they stayed together but chose the wrong passage…

No, they had little choice, so Aramis forced out a brusque nod in agreement.

Porthos held out his fist, and Aramis returned the gesture, bumping their knuckles together. Then Porthos picked a passage and strode down it. Aramis swallowed hard and turned to head down the other, alone.

The dancing shadows from his torchlight looked like live entities, twisting and contorting in tortured waves. It gave his heart palpitations every time one lunged too close in his peripheral vision.

Aramis tried to shake himself out of it, berating himself for being so jumpy. He was a musketeer and had faced worse.

Worse being captured by a witch and his soul imprisoned.

The darkness of the underground pressing in around him was too much like being trapped, compressed, and suffocated under Milady's spell. It made his lungs contract and struggle to draw breath.

He wished he and Porthos hadn't split up, but Aramis couldn't exactly have said he didn't want to be down here alone. The Queen's life was at stake and saving her was of the utmost importance, not his personal fears that he needed to overcome anyway if he was going to continue being a musketeer.

He pressed on into the darkness, hands sweaty inside his gloves. A scream resounded off the walls, and Aramis burst into a run. There was a halo of amber light ahead, and when Aramis came sprinting into the passage, he found Rochefort on the ground, straddling the Queen.

He swung his torch at Rochefort's head, and the man screamed and jerked away, rolling off the Queen. His arm batted frantically at his hair, knocking off the eye patch. Aramis dropped the torch and drew his sword just as Rochefort rolled to his feet and did the same. Anne scrambled back against the wall.

Aramis sidestepped to plant himself between her and Rochefort, who snarled and lunged. Their blades met with a cacophonous screech, and the force of the impact caught Aramis by surprise, jarring his bones and snapping something in his mind. He was no longer in a dark underground tunnel protecting the Queen; he was in a dark church where he'd last wielded his sword…against his brothers.

He staggered back, concentration shattered. He saw a blade come swinging at his head and he threw his own up to block again. But his surroundings kept wavering between that of the tunnel and that of the church, and Aramis couldn't bring himself to strike out offensively, couldn't risk hurting someone he cared about…

Rochefort bore down on him, and with a series of successive blows, managed to twist Aramis's sword out of his hand. He lunged forward. Aramis felt the tip of the blade slice through his arm, and he fell back against the rock wall.

Rochefort's eyes gleamed like the Devil out of Hell as he raised his sword to go for the kill—but a shot echoed like thunder in the enclosed tunnel, and he jerked away.

Aramis snapped his gaze to the side as Porthos, Athos, and d'Artagnan arrived. Porthos swiftly moved in to stand in front of the Queen while Athos traded his smoking pistol for his blade.

Rochefort snarled at them and charged Athos with a bellowing roar. Athos parried the strikes with ease, tossing his torch aside and drawing his main gauche with his other hand. In one swift motion, he ducked under Rochefort's arm and drove the dagger into his back. Rochefort howled and stumbled a few feet, reaching back to rip the blade out. He then turned, spittle flying from his mouth, and went for d'Artagnan. D'Artagnan also deflected his blows and scored a gash across Rochefort's thigh.

He staggered into the wall, chest heaving. The musketeers slowly surrounded him.

"It's over, Rochefort," Athos said.

Rochefort seethed at them. "No, she's mine!" he yelled and lunged toward where the Queen was cowering behind Porthos.

Porthos, of course, knocked Rochefort's sword away and slammed his fist into the Comte's face, sending him back several paces.

Rochefort bent over, hands on his knees, and wiped the back of his hand across his nose, smearing away blood. He still showed no signs of going down, despite the injuries they'd already given him.

Aramis glanced at his sword lying just a few feet away, but his hand trembled with just the thought of picking it up, especially now that his brothers were here. Milady's voice was still cackling in his ears with the ring of clashing steel, and if he didn't know better, he'd swear she was alive and in this tunnel with him.

So Aramis could only stand back and watch as his friends once again traded thrusts and parries with Rochefort, until at last d'Artagnan darted in and ran the man through. Rochefort finally staggered to a stop with a guttural gasp. His own blade fell from lax fingers, and he stumbled away to bump against the wall and slide to the ground. Breaths still wheezed from his body, and he reached up to grip d'Artagnan's sword and pull it out. Blood painted his teeth and trickled into his beard.

Anne slowly climbed to her feet and stepped out from behind Porthos. Rochefort lifted watery eyes to hers. Then he breathed his last and his head lolled limply to the side.

D'Artagnan walked over to pick up his sword and wipe it clean, while Athos went to the Queen.

"Your Majesty, are you all right?"

She nodded shakily. "I am now. Thanks to my brave musketeers."

Aramis couldn't move. The battle was over but his heart was still racing, and that chill that was always with him was burrowing deeper, crooking glacial talons into his heart.

"We will send guards to retrieve his body later," Athos said, gesturing for the Queen to follow them out.

"No," she said abruptly, shooting one last look at Rochefort. "Let him rot down here."

The others exchanged a look at that, though they didn't argue. They quietly began to pick up their torches and head out.

Aramis drew in a shuddering breath and finally reached down to pick up his sword. His hand shook as he closed his fist around the hilt.

"Hey," Porthos said quietly, making him jump. Porthos frowned. "You all right?"

Aramis couldn't manage any words at the moment, so he gave a wordless nod, even though it wasn't true.

He wasn't all right at all.


	4. Chapter 4

The musketeers led the Queen out of the tunnels. On their way, they came across Christophe and Pierre, so Athos told them to round up everyone else and return to the Louvre; the danger was past.

Constance was waiting at the secret entrance when they emerged from the tunnels. As soon as the Queen stepped through the opening, Constance rushed forward and threw her arms around her. Anne clung to her, tears spilling down her cheeks again.

Constance drew back and ran her hands over Anne's face and disheveled hair. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "No," she replied, though her thin voice bespoke of the horrors she'd endured.

"The King knows of your innocence," Athos told her. "We found Vargas and he confessed to the King that Rochefort was his spy."

Anne nodded. "Thank you. I am more grateful than words can express."

"The King's been worried sick," Constance added. "He'll be so relieved."

The Queen still looked shaken and glanced down at her filthy dress. "I must make myself presentable before I see him," she said quietly.

Constance nodded and took her hand, and the musketeers followed them to the Queen's apartments and then waited outside. None of them spoke. They had emerged victorious in the end, but it had been a fraught day, and they had come so close to irreparable tragedy.

When Anne finally re-emerged, she was clean and dressed in fresh finery, a regal Queen once more, save for the matching bandages around her wrists. With chin held high, she made her way down the hall as the musketeers escorted her to the King's chambers.

Treville was already inside with Louis, as word had been sent ahead of the Queen's rescue. Louis surged to his feet upon their entrance, eyes wide and vulnerable, making him look more like a child than a King. For all the growth and maturity he'd accomplished in the past year, he was still very young.

Anne walked sedately toward him and curtsied, her face a careful mask of decorum.

"Thank God," Louis said, voice cracking. "I…I am so sorry, Anne. I beg your forgiveness. I never should have believed Rochefort's heinous lies. You have always been a loyal and loving wife."

The Queen merely nodded. "We must be grateful his schemes were finally exposed, thanks to the efforts of the Musketeers."

Louis cast a thankful look around at all of them, then turned to Athos. "And the traitor is dead?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Louis nodded. "Good. Come, my dear." He took Anne's hand and guided her over to sit on the settee.

Athos took that as a dismissal, and the musketeers turned to leave.

"Good work," Treville called after them.

Athos inclined his head.

They all returned to the garrison just as the dragons had been recalled from guarding the tunnel exits.

"It's all over," d'Artagnan said, tone heavy with almost awed relief. "Both Milady and Rochefort."

Porthos hummed in response. "Things can finally get back to normal."

Athos felt a rare smile crack his face. They could indeed.

Of course, normal for Athos meant endless paperwork and running the garrison. But there were no new missions to worry about, leaving the men free to enjoy the Noël festivities, which they all rightly deserved.

Athos wasn't taking part in the revelry yet, as he still had some catching up and organizing to do before everything was back in order to his standard.

A tentative knock sounded at his door.

"Come."

Aramis opened the door just enough to slip inside, quickly shutting it behind him.

"I'll be down in a bit," Athos told him. "Save me some wine."

Aramis didn't respond to that, didn't move. Athos looked up and frowned at the marksman's wan appearance. He was pale and starting to lose weight, Athos could tell. He also knew from Porthos that Aramis had been having nightmares. Severe ones, like the kind that used to plague him after Savoy.

Aramis shifted his stance uneasily, as though he was working himself up to saying something. Athos wordlessly gestured for him to take a seat, which Aramis did, crossing the room stiffly and easing himself into the chair. He took off his hat and set it in his lap, fingers worrying at the brim. Athos kept his silence behind his desk, waiting patiently for Aramis to find his ground.

After several long moments, Aramis finally exhaled audibly. "I can't be a musketeer anymore."

Athos gaped at him, stunned. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined Aramis would say that. "What are you talking about?"

Aramis's fingers clenched around his hat. "I've tried to keep going, to push through it, but ever since Milady…" He broke off and looked down in shame.

Athos's heart constricted. "What you went through…it's unspeakable. No one would blame you for needing time to recover."

"It's more than that." He flicked his gaze to the side for a long moment. Then with another breath, he turned back and lifted a hand. Athos could see it was shaking.

"I wasn't…right, down in the tunnels," he admitted. "Rochefort would have killed me if you all hadn't arrived when you did. He would have killed the Queen."

"It was the same after Savoy," Athos pressed. "You overcame it then; you can do so again. You just need time."

Aramis shook his head and raised eyes awash with anguish to meet Athos's. "I don't expect you to understand," he said in a low, resigned voice. "But what Milady did…it rent my soul and severed it from God. I've been trying to find my way back—if I even can, I don't know." He moved his hand almost subconsciously to rub at his chest. "But right now that's more important to me than my commission."

Athos moved around his desk to sit on the edge in front of Aramis, close enough they could both speak in softer tones. "I do understand," he said.

He may not have believed in God himself, but he knew how important faith was to Aramis, and how hard this must be for him. Athos's heart broke with the knowledge of it.

"Where will you go?" he asked softly.

Aramis swallowed hard. "The monastery at Douai. Perhaps if I devote my life to God, he will cleanse the stain on my soul."

Athos reached out to cup the back of Aramis's head, drawing him in and pressing a chaste kiss into his hair. "I may not believe in much when it comes to God," he said, "but I believe that if he _is_ real, then he would not forsake you, Aramis. You are, in every way, a man after his own heart."

Aramis leaned forward, burying his face against Athos's chest and clinging to his coat as he started to break down. Athos held him like that, a silent pillar of support, even as his own heart was shattering.

They may have defeated Milady, but in the end, Athos was going to lose his brother anyway.

.o.0.o.

Aramis stood in his room at the barracks the following morning, sweeping his gaze over the empty shelves and bare table. This had been his home longer than anywhere else in his life, and it tore at his heart to be leaving.

But his belongings were packed and it was time. What came next, though, was going to be excruciating. The pain the mere thought of it caused was almost enough to make him change his mind and stay.

But Aramis knew that wasn't going to help him in the long run. So he took a steadying breath, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed out the door.

Athos had gathered Porthos, d'Artagnan, Constance, and the dragons in the yard, though he'd promised he wouldn't breathe a word of Aramis's decision. Aramis needed to be the one to tell them.

Porthos caught sight of his bag and frowned. "Oh, come on," he whined at Athos. "You said we weren't gonna have any missions until after Christmas."

Even Vrita and Ayelet grumbled in agreement.

"We don't," Athos said, tone heavy with the knowledge of what was coming. But he supported Aramis in this, which gave Aramis the strength to come out and say it.

"I'm resigning my commission and retiring to the monastery at Douai."

Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Constance stared at him as though they hadn't understood. Rhaego reared his head up and made a gargled noise of protest, which made Aramis wince. He'd known this wasn't going to be easy.

"Why?" Porthos blurted.

"There are some things I need to come to terms with," he said. "And I can't do it here."

"Is this about Milady?" d'Artagnan asked. "We've all suffered at her hands. I almost killed Constance!"

"This is different."

"An' how is leavin' gonna help anything?" Porthos exclaimed, obviously upset. "This is where your friends are. We help each other get through it, no matter what."

"You have all been a blessing to me in so many ways," Aramis said earnestly. "And I will be forever grateful for your love and support. But it's not your help I need this time; it's God's." He stepped closer and reached out to clasp Porthos's shoulder. "This is something I must do. Athos has already given his leave."

Porthos's eyes widened and he whirled on their captain. "You're not jus' gonna let him go?"

Athos nodded solemnly, then turned to Aramis. "If at any point you change your mind, your commission will be here waiting for you."

Aramis placed a hand over his heart in appreciation of that.

D'Artagnan moved forward, coming in for an earnest hug that took Aramis by surprise. He smiled fondly and returned the firm embrace. When d'Artagnan pulled back, there was moisture in his eyes, and he gave Aramis a staunch nod.

Constance stepped forward next, standing on her tiptoes to give Aramis a full hug. "You take care of yourself, you hear?" she said.

He nodded obligingly. "Look after the Queen," he replied. "She needs friends like you."

He turned to Porthos last, both of them hesitating for a moment before Porthos finally moved in and gave him a gruff but hearty embrace. Each moment widened the fissure in Aramis's heart, even as they filled it with the warmth of his family.

Aramis finally turned to Rhaego, who was glaring at him with a furrowed expression. Tears pricked at Aramis's eyes. "Oh, my friend, if only you could come with me."

Rhaego let out a sharp bark and tossed his head toward his back.

Aramis smiled fondly. "You are a Musketeer dragon. Your duty is here." He moved closer and laid his hand on his dragon's snout. "I owe you my life for pulling me out of my darkness those many years ago."

Rhaego pushed his nose against Aramis's palm and mewled.

Aramis gave him a pained look. "But this isn't a darkness any of you can help me with this time," he said regretfully, then moved closer to wrap his arms around his dragon.

Rhaego looped his neck down around him, returning the embrace.

"Look after the others," Aramis whispered before pulling away. It was time to go.

Hiking his bag more firmly upon his shoulder, he gave them all one last nod and started toward the gate.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan called before he'd barely taken two steps.

He paused and looked over his shoulder. D'Artagnan held his arm out. Smiling softly, Aramis turned back and placed his hand on top of his. Porthos and Athos moved in to join the pile.

"All for one."

"One for all."

With that, Aramis turned and walked out of the garrison, out of his life, and away from his family. Maybe, by God's grace, he would see them again.

.o.0.o.

With Aramis gone, a sense of mourning fell over the rest of them as they sat around the table beneath the landing. Athos already felt his absence poignantly.

"It's not right, is it?" Porthos said morosely. "Jus' the three of us."

Athos silently agreed, though they had been three once before, before d'Artagnan. Now they were three again.

Constance reached out to hold her husband's hand on the table as a few snowflakes began to fall. It would make for a dazzling winter garden at the palace for the Noël festivities, but there would be little celebrating among the four of them. Part of Athos wished Aramis had delayed his departure until after the holiday, but he also understood not prolonging it.

Across the yard, Ayelet tentatively approached a sullen Rhaego. When he didn't rebuff her company, she curled up next to him to offer comfort. Surprisingly, he didn't reject that either. Athos didn't know what he was going to do about getting the red dragon a new rider. Rhaego had matured over recent years, especially under Aramis's care, but a new rider would be a major change for him.

It wasn't something Athos had to decide right then, though.

"Athos?" a hesitant voice called.

He looked up as Etienne cautiously approached, a bundle of something wrapped in what looked like Aramis's sash in his arms.

"Aramis told me to give you this," Etienne said, laying the parcel on the table.

Athos's heart gave a pang and he exchanged a pained look with the others.

"So it's true then," Etienne said sadly. "He's left."

Athos nodded and pulled the bundle closer, then slowly unwrapped it. Inside were Aramis's ornate pistols.

The grief crashed over him anew as he laid a hand on one reverently. He could guess why Aramis had left them. Picking up one, then the other, Athos handed one each to Porthos and d'Artagnan. Both of their expressions pinched as they took them.

"What about you?" d'Artagnan asked. "Aramis left them for you."

Athos shook his head. "He would have wanted you to have them."

He began to roll up the sash, but then after a moment's contemplation, stood up to tie it around his waist in honor of his dear brother. D'Artagnan and Porthos solemnly clipped the pistols to their weapons belts.

"The men will start asking questions," Etienne spoke up after a respectful minute.

"Aramis has resigned his commission and gone to a monastery," Athos said. That was all anyone else needed to know.

Etienne looked as though he suspected there was more, but he simply nodded and let them be.

Their mourning was interrupted yet again, however, a few minutes later by the arrival of Treville.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for the palace party?" Athos asked dryly, mostly because he did not want to have to explain again so soon about Aramis.

"The festivities will have to wait," Treville replied in all seriousness. "War has been declared on Spain."

Athos's jaw went slack at the news. Though, in hindsight, it should not have been that surprising. Tensions had been running high between the two nations for a while now, and Rochefort's schemes no doubt had pushed France over the edge.

"Get the men ready," Treville told Athos. "You ride for the border at the end of the week."

"What a way to ring in the new year," Porthos muttered.

Athos could only nod as Treville turned and strode out of the garrison as swiftly as he'd come to deliver the shocking news.

D'Artagnan drew Constance into his arms and the two held each other, their lives about to be sundered.

"Aramis would be here if he knew the war was on," Porthos said.

D'Artagnan straightened. "Perhaps someone should tell him."

"No," Athos said firmly.

"But—" Porthos started.

"None of us know what he went through, or what he needs now. But after everything, he deserves the chance to try to find whatever it is." Athos sighed sadly. "And peace."

A muscle in Porthos's jaw ticked and he looked away, obviously unhappy, but he didn't argue further. As much as they all wanted Aramis with them, they also loved him enough to let him go.

Athos swept his gaze around the garrison, at the men and dragons milling about, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge of what lay ahead.

But they were Musketeers, and they would face whatever came next.

For King, Country, and Brotherhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of season 3. Season 4 coming up! :D
> 
> NEXT TIME
> 
> Interlude: A year into the war with Spain, Aramis is still wrestling with matters of faith while a stranded d'Artagnan struggles to stay alive behind enemy lines.


End file.
